


Worthy

by cowlicklesschick



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 11:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5288960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowlicklesschick/pseuds/cowlicklesschick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A companion/continuation of Trust, written from Katara's perspective. Late events of Book 3. Everything is Bryke's, except the glory of what could have been one of the most epically beautiful romances to have ever been written. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worthy

**Author's Note:**

> This exists because I absolutely despise writing term papers, and also because a few of you were kind enough to compliment my earlier one-shot Trust. This serves as a sort of companion piece, written from Katara’s POV. I hope you like it.

In the beginning, she does not even try to hide her skepticism.

It’s something of a new experience for her - she is, after all, the one whose trademarks are hope and kindness - but when she sees Zuko standing in the temple courtyard, smiling and waving as though he had the audacity to think that he  _belonged_  there, the old wounds that she has allowed to fester since Ba Sing Se flare up, sending spikes of bitterness and anger that threaten to maim, to injure.

She manages to calm the rage, since Aang is the Avatar and by all reason should have the right to choose his own teacher. But she adamantly refuses to drop her guard, and part of her is surprised that she is not even the slightest bit remorseful when Zuko’s eyes widen in fear, in the realization that she will not hesitate to kill him where he stands if he betrays them -  _her_ \- again.

After that, Katara chooses to ignore him. She reluctantly includes him the head count when preparing meals, but doesn’t bother acknowledging his quiet, meek words of thanks when she hands him his dish. She doesn’t bother to see if his clothes need washing or mending - it won’t hurt a spoiled prince to learn the meaning of hard work, she reasons - and if he accumulates scrapes or minor cuts during his training with Sokka, he is wise enough not to come to her for healing.

When they rise one morning to find Zuko and her brother missing, with only a poorly-crafted lie by way of explanation, she thinks she could turn the water in the pool behind her into steam without the aid of fire. Her anger only steeps in the following days, growing stronger and robust, like tea, but when an airship docks literally at their doorstep and her father emerges, and the story is told over supper, Katara even then gives sole credit to Sokka for initiating the mission in the first place (she conveniently ignores the fact that Zuko wouldn’t have known of her father’s capture to begin with).

Despite Katara’s staunchness during the daylight hours, there are times in the quiet dark when she forces herself to ask - why does she hate him? So  _much?_  Out of all the people who have wronged her and her friends since they started their journey, he is one of the few who has even attempted to correct his mistakes (he is, in fact, one of the few who admits that he has made mistakes in the first place). But this anger she feels towards him is not only of residual fear, born from the memory of Aang’s body plummeting to the earth, of the glow of spirit water illuminating the angry red starburst on his back, of the long days she spent knelt beside him, watching the hair slowly obscure his tattoo.

No, she thinks. It is much, much more than the fear and pain of losing her friend. 

It is because she believed, if only for a moment, that he was worthy.

Worthy of her sympathy, of her friendship, of her kindness, of her help. Of the Spirit water. Of her trust.

And the second his crown was dangled in front of him, he chose to throw it all away.

But  _now_ …now that it’s  _convenient_ for him, he wants to show that she can trust him. That he is worthy.

Well, she tells herself, if he is, then he’s capable of proving it to her the hard way. And if he does -  _if_ , she knows, is sometimes one of the biggest and most important words in any language - then she will trust him, unfailingly.

But when he turns on them -  _her_ \- again, it won’t hurt quite as badly this time, because she hasn’t invested anything in him. 

And so Katara grits her teeth and does her best to ignore the way he eats with her father and brother, crossing his legs and stealing a piece of roasted sun-papaya off of Sokka’s plate when he isn’t looking, and the way he shows Hakoda how he uses his Dao blades.

It’s easy, really, ignoring him, pretending that his presence is completely inconsequential - until explosions jerk them awake, until her eyes barely have time to register the stones falling before an arm that is all strength and sinew and muscle locks around her middle, tugging her away to collapse in a heap on the floor.

She bites back her accusations that he has led his sister here, because she knows that he didn’t.

She also knows that watching him tumble down the side of the airship makes her heart tumble down into her stomach, and before Sokka can begin to brace his feet she is already on hers, reaching up and clenching her hand around his forearm, and there is a millisecond after he lands in the saddle when his gold eyes catch hers and she sees the thank you start to form on his lips.

She turns away, moving up to sit beside Aang.

It is difficult to explain, even to herself, why her anger would suddenly peak now. She isn’t sure if it’s because they’ve had a long day of travel after an almost deadly awakening, or if it’s because she had to part with her father again after only a few days of being reunited, or if it’s because the chilled fear that gripped her heart in those seconds before she yanked him onto Appa was somehow a hundred times worse than her fear when she had watched Azula’s lightning knock Aang right out of the air.

Perhaps it’s all of those things, but as Katara sits across from him, patiently listening to his lesson on command towers and charts and sea ravens on flags, she decides to shelve her anger with the prince.

 _For now_ , is what she tells herself. Once they return, once she faces the nightmare that has been plaguing her for years, then things will return to normal - he will continue (maybe) to help their cause, and she will continue to distrust him.

But the feeling that sings through her body as she walks away, leaving her mother’s killer weeping and shaking in the rain, is not one of suspicion, but of gratitude. In some ways he has seen a side of her that no one else has - Sokka and Aang have caught only glimpses, and their reactions were more than she could stand.

Zuko, however, seems to quietly accept the darkness within her, much like he does everything else about her, from the sharp jabs during meals to the blatant ignoring of his numerous efforts to help her with the chores. A deep yet almost childish shame overtakes her, but when his arms clasp around her middle again - this time gently - she can feel his gratefulness for her trust.

Just  _how_ grateful he is for her trust later astounds her.

Zuko is strength personified. He bends sheer energy, all heat and life and death, by his will alone. He wields his swords with skill born only from years spent in diligent study. He is resilient, and it seems at times as though he is as enduring as the cliffs that jut down to the sea.

So when he comes to her time and time again, she thinks that she has never been more surprised than she is to learn that Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation enjoys small talk while she mends clothes and cooks dinner and washes the dishes - but she quickly realizes that is much, much more than idle chitchat. He seems to hold a bewildered admiration for her faith in Aang, and she can’t really blame him. She wonders at herself, too, at times. But Zuko’s life has had precious little cause for faith, and so she is glad to provide the gentle, persevering support that he evidently craves.

It is partly why she is glad when he turns to her, because if Zuko has ever needed someone with faith on his side, it is now, facing his sister for the throne. She accepts, and thinks that there is nothing she would not do, no price she would not pay, to see that look in his eyes, to hear his calming breath he takes as her hand in his pulls him out of whatever dark vision was tormenting him, and a gentle squeeze around her fingers is all the thanks she needs.

She takes a deep breath of her own, and remembers days spent cooking in the kitchen at the beach house, where washing dishes and sweeping the floor became times of companionship, of quiet closeness and shared strength.

She remembers the day she offered to do his laundry, and the relieved sigh he gave as he admitted his socks were all holes and he had no idea how to sew. She remembers the way he dutifully carried Toph on his back for weeks after her feet were healed. She remembers the feel of the warm ocean lapping at her thighs as she blocked bursts of fire, the only real sparring match she could count on.

When the blue glare of electricity sparks its way through the air towards her, she remembers her mother’s smile.

When he jumps and intercepts the arc, and the glow ignites around him and sends sparks flying, she remembers  _Zuko’s_ smile.

What breaks her heart more than anything is seeing that smile again, and the look of surprise when he sees her kneeling beside him, almost as if he had expected her to simply walk away.

But in the days that follow, the days of reunions and paperwork and negotiations, she watches him with a friend’s careful eye as well as a healer’s, and she thinks that maybe that wasn’t it, but she can’t figure out what it  _is_ , until one night she listens to his conversation with Aang about plans for rebuilding and restoring the Air Temples, and it hits her like a stampede of komodo-rhinos.

The thought almost makes her want to slap him. How could this boy - this boy, with the honey-gold eyes and the terrible jokes and the complete ineptitude when it comes to brewing a decent pot of tea, this boy with the honor that has been  _earned_ , the heart that is purer and brighter than any dragon’s flame - think that he is not needed, that he is not just as vital to their world’s survival as the Avatar?

It makes her want to cry, and the night after his coronation she manages to trap him in his private lounge, and he doesn’t say a word of protest, and when the soft light of her healing water fades away, she knows that he sees the tears hanging on her eyelids, eyelids that close when he holds her tightly against him.

He says nothing, and she pulls back because she wants,  _needs_ him to know that Zuko is indescribably important and special and so very, very worthy of her healing, but Fire Lord Zuko is worthy of the respect of every tribe, every nation, every colony in the world, because he has inherited a world made of ash and dust, and yet all he sees is the chance to make amends, to wash away the scorch marks his fathers have left behind and build a new era of peace.

She is unable to put it into words, how valuable he is. But his breath catches in his chest, and when she looks at him she can see that he knows, now. He knows that her faith is no longer just in the Avatar, but in  _him_ , to lead his people with honor. Quite suddenly his arms have a different feel around her, and she has no idea who leaned in first but he tastes of smoke and spice and he pulls away too soon, and she sees the question in his eyes and answers it in her own. The look he gives her sends hot chills down to the small of her back, and when she climbs into his lap not much later, she thinks that perhaps, she might need to remind Zuko of how worthy he is more often.


End file.
